geyser
by Spinesless
Summary: Izuku faints in class after the events of Kamino Ward. Aizawa, All Might, and his friends, remind him that, no matter what he's going through, he doesn't have to do it alone. (Sickfic, H/C)
1. geyser

It feels strange to be so tired.

Sure, All Might's ten month training regime was rough, even without his own... personalizations... but that kind of training, that kind of intensity, felt right. At the end of each day he had been totally drained, but it made sense: all his energy was being shoveled into making sure his body could accept One For All, so that he could even have a shot at getting into U.A. He was grateful to feel so tired, happy even. But this kind of exhaustion feels different. It feels different from those months of training, and it feels different than the day-to-day tiredness he's felt since starting high school. U.A. is demanding. The classwork, homework, training, sparring––it's all to prepare them for lives and careers as pros, so of course it's challenging. But despite all this, Izuku doesn't think he's ever been this damn tired before.

He just can't figure it out. He goes to class, he takes his notes, he trains, he spars, he does his homework, he texts his mom, he watches Kirishima and Sero play video games, he listens to Hagakure and Ashido gossip about the upperclassmen––the same as usual. In fact, if anything, he should be feeling less worn, seeing as he doesn't even have to commute to school every day by train anymore. It just doesn't make sense.

"Midoriya, any input?"

He's tried to sleep earlier, but he already calculated the maximum amount of sleep he can get and still have time for homework and studying. Sleeping earlier wouldn't equate to sleeping better, anyway. He has no problems falling asleep, it's staying that way that's been giving him strife. He thinks dreams might be the cause, but he can never remember anything upon waking––the only thing that stays with him from his supposed nightmares is the rapid beating of his heart in his chest. But maybe he's not dreaming. Maybe his body is playing a trick on him, and that's why he keeps waking up at 2 AM everyday and can't fall back asleep.

"Hey, Midoriya. Pay attention."

But that's not right, either. He must fall back asleep, after hours of staring at his ceiling or counting backwards from 500 or scrolling endlessly through the internet, because he wakes up in the morning after all, spurred out of bed by the shrieking of his alarms or Iida knocking insistently at his door. He can't wake up if he's not asleep.

"Midoriya?"

He keeps missing his alarms, even though he keeps setting more of them, louder. Yesterday, he slept all the way through breakfast and barely had enough time to get dressed and get to class on time. It threw him, for sure. Uraraka commented how tired he looked, Iida too. Even finishing his lunch had felt like too much work, so he didn't. After class, during the break before dinner, he fell asleep studying in the common room. When he woke up his heart still raced, but all the lights were off and a blanket was draped around his shoulders. It was light pink and smelled like Uraraka's bedroom. He still had it in his room. He needed to give it back.

He slept through breakfast today, too. "Midoriya."

"Deku?"

He knows that there's graphite and ink smeared all over the side of his hand and wrist, and he knows that his pen is stopped in the middle of his notebook page. He knows that he feels something like exhaustion pressing on him from all sides. It smothers his head, makes his thoughts fleeting and cottony, makes his body slow to react. He's having trouble concentrating. He can't focus his eyes. He's so tired. And his stomach hurts. He doesn't even know how that's possible, seeing as it's basically empty––

"Midoriya Izuku."

A thick textbook falls from Aizawa's hand onto Izuku's desk with a loud bang that echoes off the walls. Izuku startles badly. He flinches upward and backward in his seat in a way that might be comical if it weren't for the genuine fear in his wide eyes and the way his chest heaves. He slowly turns those eyes to his homeroom teacher, who looms close from the aisle between Bakugo and Jiro. He didn't even notice Aizawa approach, but at least the shock wakes him up a little.

"S-Sorry, sir! Aizawa, sir!" How long had he been zoned out for?

"Paying attention isn't optional, Mr. Midoriya."

"Yes, sir."

"Even you can learn something from Homeroom class, I promise."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Aizawa." Izuku swallows and hopes no one can hear his voice shake, though with how loud his heart is pounding in his ears, he wouldn't be surprised if his classmates could hear that.

Seemingly satisfied, Aizawa stalks back to his place in front of the chalkboard. When he turns back to face his students, his bloodshot, shadowed eyes narrow on Izuku.

"Midoriya." "Yes, sir!" "Are you well?"

The class stills. Everyone is focused on the two of them. Izuku can hardly take a breath. He's tired of everyone always looking at him. What's wrong with Deku now? they must all be thinking. It's always something.

But it's nothing. He's fine. Just tired, right? But he's been tired before. And he'll be tired again.

He swallows again and stares straight ahead, not daring to look at anyone at all. "I'm fine, Mr. Aizawa."

"Hm. You don't look "fine" to me."

He doesn't know how to respond. His face heats up, so he knows it must be red, which really can't be helping him right now. "I'm––I'm okay! Don't worry about me!" He's not helping. He knows he's not helping. He can't believe he got his teacher invested over something as stupid as being tired.

Aizawa doesn't break his gaze. "Unfortunately, it is my job to worry about you, as well as the other nineteen students in this class. If you're ill, I can't have you getting everyone else sick too."

–––Innocuous, really, but a memory, long buried–––

He's young, too young for this, holding his All MightTM branded lunchbox to his chest, a whole room of tables and chairs and students before him, people laughing as he stands on the threshold.

"Ewww, get outta here, Quirkless freak!"  
"Yeah, don't get too close, you'll catch his Quirklessness!"  
"What kind of disease does he have that he doesn't have a Quirk?"

–––Mr. Aizawa couldn't have known, that was a long time ago, it's less than a dream now, he's fine, just fine––

"...and you're doing it again. Okay. Get up. Now."

Izuku slams back into the present. "Sir?" Oh no. He zoned out again. Now he's gonna get it. It's not like he doesn't deserve it, though.

"Go see Recovery Girl. Let her take a look at you." A jolt runs through him. "Mr. Aizawa––!"

"It's not up for discussion. Go." Aizawa's lips twist into an even deeper frown, clearly not in the mood to argue with his young, stupid pupil. "You've wasted enough class time as it is."

Izuku's legs push him up, his chair scraping noisily against the floor. Standing really shouldn't feel like an accomplishment, but it does. His heart beats faster as he steps forward. He doesn't even know what Recovery Girl will even say. Go to sleep earlier? Study less? Eat more vegetables?

Maybe she'll tell him, "Stop being pathetic." Maybe she'll say, "The reason you're so tired is because you're weak." Maybe she'll tell him, "Did you really think someone like you could actually be a hero?"

Taking two steps really shouldn't feel like an achievement, but it does. Izuku feels the whole class track him. They're looking at him because they know he's weak. They all know. They've all known. He's the only one out of the loop.

He's so tired.

Izuku reaches the end of the aisle. He doesn't feel right, but he doesn't know how he does feel. Maybe not sick. Maybe not all there. He turns and tries to ignore his quickening breaths as he passes Aizawa's desk, the man still staring him down.

The growing lightheadedness overtakes him and he doesn't make it to the door. His vision, already greying at the edges, turns white, then black. For a moment, he feels like Uraraka has tapped him with her Quirk, except his body goes down instead of up.

The entirety of class 1-A watches as, mid step, Midoriya goes limp. His knees hit the ground hard, followed by the rest of his body.

"Deku!"  
Aizawa doesn't catch him, but he's kneeling beside him in an instant. "Everyone, stay in your seats."

His voice might not be as loud as Mic's, but it certainly still holds power. The half of the class that's halfway out of their seats freezes and settles back down. Uraraka's hand digs into Iida's shoulder. Todoroki cranes his neck, the red of his scar stark against his paling complexion.

Their teacher bends down and taps the side of Izuku's face. "Hey. Midoriya. No sleeping in class." Nothing. His eyelids don't even twitch.

Aizawa sighs. He looks down at the kid out cold on the tiled floor and slides one arms under his shoulders and another around his knees. He rolls him, and with a practiced motion, one almost graceful, he rises to his feet. With Midoriya unconscious in his arms, he addresses the horrified class.

"Okay. Silent study hall. Study or something. It's almost time for English anyway. Iida, Yaoyorozu, try to maintain some semblance of order until then. I'll be right back." Without another word, he's out the door and heading down the hall in the direction of the nurse's office.

Oh, this damn kid.

Aizawa glances down. He better not have secret internal bleeding or some mystery injury he's refused to have treated. That hasn't happened, yet, but it's only a matter of time. More likely is that the kid's been pushing himself too hard. Too much studying or sparring or training. Everyone has their limits. Each of these kids would learn that, in time. It's part of becoming a hero. But why does it feel like only Midoriya learns these hard lessons in the hardest ways?

The young hero in his arms shifts, then groans. Good. That's good. It's been long enough. Despite the movement, Aizawa holds him fast.

Another soft groan. As he comes back to awareness, it's the movement that throws Izuku off, makes him open his eyes before he's entirely acclimated. He stares in confusion at the hall ceiling, at the arms surrounding him. "Mr. Aizawa...? What––?" And his head is killing him, which is what he really needs right now, on top of everything.

"You fainted in class. I'm bringing you to Recovery Girl so she can find out why."

Another groan, this one louder, with a more ragged edge. Izuku covers his face with his hands. He could die from embarrassment. He could die. He wishes Aizawa would drop him right here in the hall so he could crawl off school grounds, crawl back home to his mom, or maybe crawl into a gutter and––

"Hey. Cut that out."

With a start, Izuku relaxes his hands. He's gripped his face hard enough that his nails leave behind faint, half-moon indents in the skin of his forehead. Any harder and he could've drawn blood. But he doesn't pull his hands back.

"Can you walk?" They're still moving.  
"I can try." He doesn't think he can walk.

"Hm. Pro tip: if you don't know if you can do something, you probably can't." Aizawa adjusts his hold. "It's not worth finding out. We're almost there."

Izuku is silent as they finish their journey. His teacher pushes the door to the nurse's office open with his back and swings in. Recovery Girl, seated at her desk nearby, makes a noise of surprise and gets to her feet. She gestures at the closest bed.

"Oh, dear. What's happened now?"

Aizawa places Izuku down with unspeakable gentleness and takes a few steps back. "Young Midoriya here has been looking ill all period. When I told him to go see you he fainted before he even made it out of the classroom."

Izuku could die. His face is the same shade as his shoes and he has yet to remove his hands. He fainted. In front. Of the. Whole. Class. In front of Aizawa. In front of Kacchan. In front of Uraraka. He rubs at his eyes and groans.

"I thought I told you to cut that out. Stop messing with your face already."

He doesn't. He hears Recovery Girl move around him and words fall aimlessly from his lips. A blood pressure cuff is slipped over his sleeve and inflated. "I'm okay, really, I'm sorry, I'm fine, don't worry about me, I'm okay, really."

A small hm. "Mr. Midoriya, when was the last time you ate?"

He freezes. He knows Recovery Girl and Mr. Aizawa are expecting him to say "This morning, at breakfast." He knows they're not expecting him to hesitate, to have to think about the answer. He should just lie, but he doesn't. His voice is shaky, like the rest of him, when he finally speaks.

"I slept through breakfast."  
He doesn't see the two heroes exchange a certain look.

"I didn't see you at dinner last night." Aizawa's voice is low, almost like there's a note of warning in it.

Izuku swallows. He should have lied. Inevitable tears slip out from under his eyelids and seep beneath the pads of his fingers. Damn it, damn this. He's fine. He's not weak, he swears, he is a hero, he does belong here. He's just tired. He's just so tired.

No. No. He is weak. It's past time somebody else finally noticed.

"I missed it." His voice is wet. "I fell asleep."

A larger hmm. "Yes, that'll do it," Recovery Girl says dryly. "You can rest up here for a short while, but you need to eat something. I'll be right back." She heads towards a door off to the side, but stops with her hand against it, looking back at Aizawa. "Oh, Shota? Though he is your student, remember that he is also my patient." She gives him a hard, even stare before passing through the door.

At any other time, Izuku would be analyzing that interaction, but he can't quite grasp it. Some of his dizziness has returned, and he swells with a feeling that seizes his lungs and throat. It scratches at his collarbone. He hardly notices that his hands have slid from his face until he realizes that Aizawa has gotten closer to the bed, and is staring down at him.

"You haven't been sleeping." It almost feels like an accusation.

Izuku blinks slowly. What gave it away? he wants to ask, but doesn't. He swallows, and his teacher speaks before he can reply.

"How long?" "What?"

"How long has it been?"

He finds his voice. "I sleep. Just not always. And... not for very long." To admit it feels forbidden, like he's confessed to a crime or confirmed a huge secret. The act of telling Aizawa feels strange, but he doesn't have the energy to concoct a lie. He's sure his teacher would be able to see through it in an instant, anyway.

"How long do you sleep for, before waking back up?"

He shrugs. "A few hours. I usually wake up around two." What kind of hero is too weak to even sleep through the night?

"I see. I'll ask again. How long have you been unable to sleep? Since moving into the dorms?" Izuku has to think about it.

Was that it? The move? That would be a pretty straightforward reason: his old life, usurped, turned upside down, no longer living with his mom, the symbolic and abrupt end to his childhood. A completely valid excuse as to why he hasn't been sleeping. He should just nod in relief, offer a weak smile, say something like Yes, that must be it. But it's not. Not quite.

When was the last time he had slept through the night? He'd been sleeping poorly before the move, since––now it dawns on him––since he was in the hospital. After the... the attack on the training camp. His mind touches a whirling knot of memories and he recoils.

Dear God. Has it really been that long?

When he looks down at his arms to avoid his teacher's stare it's as if he expects them to be covered in bloody bandages instead of by his uniform sleeves. Covered in bandages and casts, full of tubes and needles:

"I refuse to heal this sort of injury from now on. Enough with this self-destruction."  
"I'd give you two or three more times, but if you keep getting injured like this... you may

permanently lose the use of your arms."

He absently rubs at the places he knows his scars to be. He doesn't want to think about how many scars he's earned in the first semester alone. Then he might get trapped in memory, or start thinking about how many scars he has yet to gain. Maybe he really isn't fit to be a––

"Midoriya?"

Mr. Aizawa almost sounds concerned. The change in the tone of his voice blinks Izuku mostly back to the present reality, but the dregs of a memory cling stubbornly and hold him back: Kacchan, seized in front of him. Right in his reach. Being powerless to stop him from slipping away, from being taken.

His heart clenches like someone punched through his ribcage and squeezed. His breath catches. The feeling hasn't left. Even though Kacchan is fine––even though he sits in front of him in class and ignores him or sneers at him, even though he sleeps just a few floors away, even though he's safe––his heart just can't seem to unclench.

He clears his throat. "I think it's been a while."  
"Thank you for your honesty. You looked like you wanted to lie." Aizawa sniffs and thumbs the top

of his cheekbone, right below his eye. "Now I'll be honest: you look exhausted."

Izuku touches his face again instead of answering. The indentions on his forehead from his nails have faded. His fingertips travel lower. Hm. Maybe the skin just beneath his waterline does feel thinner. He'll have to find a mirror, to see if the shadows under his eyes are too pronounced. They can't be that noticeable though, Iida and Uraraka only said something to him today.

They noticed. They noticed that he overslept again, that he was wrinkled and tired and out of it. But he can't remember what he told them, how he brushed them off. He's let this whole not sleeping thing get out of hand. That's all. He can't have his friends worrying about him like this.

Aizawa's own eyes have slid closed. He feels the watch face on his wrist and frowns at the time. There's only a couple of minutes left in the class period. So much for his be right back. He hopes the young fools haven't blown themselves to bits, but he figures he'd probably hear the explosions.

He sighs. "I have no doubt half the class is going to come barreling down here to try to see you any minute."

"I don't want to see anyone." Not. Not yet.  
"Like that was ever an option." Without another word, he leaves the office.

He stands in front of the door, guarding it like a sentinel. Ninety seconds after the period officially ends, as he suspected, Class 1-A comes raring down the hall. The front lines falter at the sight of their teacher, but still press on, coming to a stop a generous distance away.

Uraraka looks like she hasn't stopped fretting since they left for the office. She worries her lower lip between her teeth and doesn't hesitate to address Aizawa outright. "Mr. Aizawa, is D––ah, Midoriya okay?"

"Yes." That's all they're getting.

Some of his students seem comforted by his direct and immediate answer, but not all. Kirishima frowns. "Well, can we see him?"

"No."  
A collective aww, come on!

"No, you can't see him, you'll be more late for English class than you all already are." His eyes narrow, but he knows because of the circumstance, Mic won't give them a hard time about it. Unfortunately. He's not sure if these kids will ever learn the discipline they need. "If he's feeling better, maybe you can visit him during break. Maybe."

He raises his head and looks out at the students before him. He's not surprised to see everyone but Bakugo. Well, that can't be helped. His class may have been cut short, but there's always room for a lecture. All Might would be so, so much better at this, but Yagi's not here right now, so he'll have to try his best.

Aizawa jams his thumb back at the closed door. "That's what happens when you're on the Hero track and you skip breakfast." He folds his arms. "Being a Hero is akin to being a professional athlete, but on a completely different scale. You are all familiar with your respective training regimens, and how intensive they can be. But, on top of that," ––now here he uses his best (worst?) TeacherTM voice–– "you are all growing and developing young men and women." He lets his works soak in for just a moment. "You need every calorie you can get. So don't skip meals, and you won't

pass out in class and end up like Midoriya. Okay?" "Yes, Mr. Aiz––"  
"Shut up, and go to class!"

Most of them go dashing back the way they've just come, but not all. Unsurprising, Uraraka and Iida haven't moved from their places at the front of the crowd, and Kirishima, Asui, and Todoroki purposefully linger not far.

Iida speaks first. "Mr. Aizawa, sir! I know English class will be starting soon, but I was hoping, as––"

"I certainly hope you're not trying to use your position as Class President as leverage to check up on Midoriya."

"Sir, I would never abuse my privileges in such a way!" Iida takes a moment to collect himself. "I ask, not as Class President, but as Midoriya's friend––may we see him?"

"We're really worried about him." Asui's voice is quiet but distinct. "He is fine, right?" A crease has appeared in Todoroki's brow.  
Oh, these kids.

Aizawa sighs, something he's been doing a lot of today. "Yes, he is. But he's worn out and he needs to rest. And you all need to get to class." He can tell by their faces and body language that they're disappointed, that they want to protest. "You can all come back and see him after class."

They want to fight the dismissal, but they know it's no use, so they don't. Aizawa watches them sigh and shoot him big eyed looks and drag their feet until they round the corner, out of sight. Then he heads back inside.

Recovery Girl is gently nudging a sleeping––or passed out––Midoriya awake. There's a very large bowl of very white rice steaming on the table beside the bed. Midoriya's eyes open after some coaxing, and it takes a few seconds more for him to gain any sort of grasp on his surroundings. Aizawa watches with his hands in his pockets.

"You can rest in just a bit, dear, but you do need to eat first. If you fall asleep without eating something, you'll wake up worse off than when you first arrived."

"I don't feel hungry. Just tired."

"You might not, but the reason you have no energy is because you haven't been properly fueling your body. This rice is fortified with vitamins and protein, so you should start feeling better soon."

The damn kid still opens his mouth to protest. He never stops, does he? "Eating isn't optional, Midoriya."

"Okay, okay." He takes another breath and swings himself upright.

Aizawa watches all the remaining color drain from his face. His body moves without thinking and in an instant he's beside his pupil, a hand on his shoulder. "Breathe through it. Come on. Breathe."

Izuku looks like he's gonna be sick. He takes a few shallow breaths, swallows, but remains both conscious and upright. After a few tense seconds, when it's evident that he's mostly stable, Recovery

Girl offers again the bowl of rice and a pair of chopsticks. Midoriya takes both with shaking hands.

"Sorry. Thanks." He looks at the bowl and starts to eat. He did promise his mom that he would eat all his rice.

"No need to apologize, just eat up." Recovery Girl busies herself pulling the privacy curtain around his bed. When she's finished, she turns to Aizawa. "Don't keep him too long, alright? He still needs to rest."

He inclines his head in response, and she smiles at him and his student before making her way to her desk.

Aizawa lowers himself into the chair by the bed and watches Midoriya eat. The boy is focused on the food in front of him and takes measured, deliberate bites, careful not to spill despite the slight tremors wracking his arms. Aizawa should just drop the Hound a letter in his mailbox or something. As guidance counselor, a student's overall wellbeing in mind as well as body is his chief responsibility, let him worry about one problem child's inability to take care of himself.

Yeah, right. Izuku sat in his class for weeks, third row, by the windows, in plain sight. And he didn't do a damn thing. This was on him.

"You can't not eat. Just like you can't not sleep. You need to have a functioning body if you want to be a hero, but your body only works as well as you treat it." They all learn this lesson eventually, in some shape or form.

Midoriya freezes. His head hangs over his bowl and his hair hangs in front of his face, but Aizawa doesn't need to see his eyes to know he's trying not to cry. "I." He stops, swallows, and tries again. "I know that. Okay? I know. I know."

"You haven't had an easy time of it. Especially not lately. But if nothing else––take care of yourself for you. We can't always control our circumstances but we can control how we respond to them. We can control what we do, or what we don't do."

"I didn't mean to let it get this bad."

"I'm sure you didn't. It's not all your fault. I should have noticed something was bothering you weeks ago."

"But––"

"I can't control my students' behaviors or actions, but I control how I act with the information I gather. I have control over if I let some behaviors continue or cease. And if I can't control that, then at least I know I can control if a student stays enrolled in U.A. or not. No matter what, you have more control than you think, Midoriya. For example, you can choose to get help, or you can choose to continue to waste away."

Izuku makes a choking noise. "I'm so tired!"

With careful hands, Aizawa takes the chopsticks and half eaten bowl of rice and puts them aside. He places his hands on the boy's shoulders. "Then rest, Midoriya. Whatever you're holding onto, whatever it is––if you can't let it go for good yet, then put it down for a little while." His voice gets quieter. "You know you're not alone in this, right?"

He's crying in earnest now, muffled sobs pressed into his hands.

"You're choosing to carry this all yourself. But you can trust other people, like me, and your other teachers, and your friends. You will have many adversaries in your life, young Midoriya, and you cannot let one of those be yourself."

Aizawa gently presses the boy back against the pillows. Tears and snot drip down Midoriya's face, and he wipes at his nose and eyes as he tries to get a grip. "Mr. Aizawa, I––"

"Stop. You don't have to say anything right now. Just sleep, okay?" A hiccup. "Okay."

Izuku curls in on himself. He looks a little silly, lying on top of the blankets and sheets, fully clothed, but his eyes are already closing.

Quietly, quietly, Aizawa extracts himself and settles into the chair next to the bed. He thinks about everything he had planned to do the rest of day and in his mind's eye watches those plans dissolve: notes written to himself, scrawled in margins and on scraps of paper, meetings scheduled weeks ago, paperwork to file, naps to take.

Well. He can probably manage a nap. He's definitely slept in worse places than this chair before. He can't go far, though; he knows he needs to be there when Midoriya wakes up.

They have a lot to talk about.

* * *

a/n: Cross-posted on Ao3 (Spineless). Thanks for reading. Feedback always appreciated.


	2. spew

Izuku wakes up the same way he's been waking up for just a little too long: with a start, his heart racing. The images of the nightmare fade almost immediately, replaced with views of the nurse's office ceiling and the pale blue curtains pulled close around his bed. Clutched by some baseless fear, he can only lie on top of the sheets and try to catch his breath. He had thought that maybe, because it was a different place, a different bed, he had escaped _this_. Clearly not. He raises shaking hands and rubs his eyes. The chair beside him is vacant.

Forgetting the dream is frustrating. Just once, he wants to hold onto it and to stare it down. He wants to see just _what _is making him like this, leaving him a shaking mess, an exhausted, queasy mess, a fainted-in-class-and-had-to-be-carried-to-the-nurse mess. But no matter how tightly shut he squeezes his eyes and tries to focus, he can't remember. Darkness swirls and whorls against his eyelids and he listens to the stillness of the room. He can hear voices out in the hall, muffled, but several distinct people talking. Maybe if he tried harder he'd be able to guess to whom they belong, but he's foggy from sleep and foggy from the lack of it and there's a faint pulsing at his temples that he doesn't feel great about. His stomach hurts and he thinks about what he's going to do.

He slipped up. He's slipped up, and the future is terrifyingly uncertain. He tries to imagine possibilities; he knows his teacher isn't gonna let this go, and it's not that he would expect him to, really. Fainting in class is bad. He needs to sleep. He needs to eat. Of course he does, he _knows _this, of course he does, of course he does, but he _can't _and he doesn't know _why_! Aizawa wants to _talk_, but if he can't remember his dreams, then what's there to talk about? What could they possibly talk about? Izuku doesn't think he wants to talk about anything at all.

He just needs sleep. If he gets back to sleeping normal then he won't sleep through breakfast or fall asleep during dinner and he won't be too tired to finish lunch. And then he'll be okay and no one has to worry about him anymore. Not Aizawa or Uraraka or Iida or Todoroki. He's gotten through so much. He can get through this too. Maybe Recovery Girl can give him a sleep aid or melatonin or something. He can always get them himself, he figures. But he's first got to get out of here.

He sits up slowly, recalling his aggressive light-headedness from earlier. He sits straight, not leaning against the wall or pillows, and adjusts. His vision does grey, but only a little bit, and the dizziness is less than before, he's sure. Once his vision clears, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and lets them dangle. If he can convince Aizawa that he's feeling better, that he's okay, maybe he'll be allowed to finish his classes for the day. It can't be past lunch. If he has something decent to eat, maybe if he can go down to the cafeteria and eat with his friends, he knows it'll give him the strength to get through the rest of his day.

The door opens and closes and he freezes, poised to push off the mattress and stand. With the curtain shut, he can't see who it is, just their shadow, but it must be Mr. Aizawa. Before either of them can move, there's a knock at the door, and it opens once again.

"Oh. Yagi. Feeling all right?"  
"W––Ah, yes, yes, I'm fine."  
Izuku thinks he might faint again. _All Might!_

"I didn't see young Midoriya at Hero Lessons. When I inquired after his whereabouts––" His voice gets quieter. "His classmates sent me here. Is he all right?"

No. No. He can't drag All Might into this too. He's _fine_. He has to be, and even if he's not, well, he's going to be. He's already feeling better from the sleep and the food from earlier, though he knows he needs more of both. If he slept through Hero Lessons––and the realization _hurts _because it means he's falling behind, _again_––then that means he was right, it must be time for lunch. He hasn't missed his other classes. He has to go. But he has to eat. His stomach is starting to feel hollow again.

"Well. He's exhausted," Aizawa says, voice also low. "Worn out. Missing or skipping meals. Or sleeping through them. Or whatever. He wasn't looking great so I tried to see him here and he passed out before he reached the door."

There's a sharp intake of breath that can only be from All Might.

Izuku can't stand this. His face is hot from embarrassment and he has to blink back tears. He hates that he feels this way. He hates that he got this way at all.

All Might sighs with a shaky edge. "He does have a tendency to push himself too hard, doesn't he?" "Mm. I'm more bothered that I didn't intervene sooner."  
There's a pause. Izuku can hardly breathe.  
"You can't shoulder every burden, Shouta."

"You're one to talk."

He decides he's had enough of listening to his teachers talk about him, about his weakness or whatever, and finally pushes himself off the bed. His toes touch tile, and standing is okay. Standing is fine. He's gonna eat lunch with his friends and he's gonna go to bed early and he'll feel better, and then everyone can stop worrying about him. And if he keeps having dreams then... well, then he'd figure it out. He couldn't let something as intangible as _dreams _affect him like this any more. He's a hero. He's a hero. Heroes can't worry about this stuff.

Focused solely on the task of standing, he doesn't notice the two voices cease after he touches down. He's not able to see the way his two teachers meet eyes before turning to stare at the curtain, the way that the overhead lights make his shadow behind it obvious. Maybe. Maybe standing wasn't his best idea. He gets a lot of ideas, so it's not really _too _surprising that not every one of them is going to be great. He sways likes reeds stirred by the wind and takes a step to steady himself, then takes a step after that. His lightheadedness returns, along with the edges of vision beginning to gray. Shit.

Aizawa pulls the curtain aside and steps inside the cloth cubicle. He eyes his trembling but upright form.

"Huh. You're up," he says with a frown. "How do you feel?"

Izuku swallows. "Better," he says, and isn't that true? He's had some food and sleep. This dizziness is sure to pass soon, in just a moment. He swallows again. "Is it lunch time?" he tries to ask, the words sticking in his mouth like bubblegum or mochi.

All Might fills the tiny space even in his unenhanced form. Towering just behind Aizawa, he wears a concerned, though slightly pained expression on his face. "Yes, my boy, classes have just let out. Why don't you have a seat?"

"I... I wanted to ask..." Izuku looks down at his shoes and takes another step but it's a horrible idea, really. His vision goes nearly completely grey, and he hears buzzing in his ears like bees or rushing water. This time, he's aware enough to feel the sensation of his legs giving out.

But he doesn't fall. Aizawa lurches forward and catches him before he hits the ground. "Midoriya?" he asks, but he's too late, his eyes have already closed.

It's an awkward hold. Aizawa's caught at the midway point between laying him on the floor or hoisting him back onto the bed. Yagi's arms are stretched forward, out but not touching. He knows he's not needed, but that ache to help drives him. Aizawa slips Izuku into his arms and places him back on the bed.

A sigh escapes sharply between his teeth as he loosens the absurdly tied tie and unfastens the first top buttons of the wrinkled white shirt. "I knew I should have made him eat more."

"What was that, Shouta?"

Both teachers turn around fast enough to cause a breeze. Recovery Girl stands just beyond the parted curtain, both hands on her cane. She's frowning, and they all know that's not a good thing.

Aizawa weaves his fingers through the hair at the back of his neck and straightens up. "Midoriya woke up and fainted again, after trying to walk. I made a bad call. I thought he needed sleep more than food." He takes a step forward and inclines his head slightly. "Clearly that was untrue."

"Why does everyone around here always seem to forget that these kids are just _kids_?" Recovery Girl frowns up at both of them before sighing and shaking her head. "I'll tell Lunch-Rush to send something up. It's a good thing you were here when he fell. Midoriya doesn't need any more concussions." She turns back and starts towards her desk with a slight _hmph_, enough to leave both of them chastised.

Midoriya shifts on the bed, his head rolling back and forth. He frowns and his mouth opens and closes, but he doesn't say anything.

Aizawa places his hand on his shoulder and shakes him just slightly. "Midoriya. You're dreaming." His voice is firm.

Yagi recognizes the expressions of fear that contort his successor's face with a grim familiarity. He's trapped between reaching forward and stepping back. It hurts to see him hurting. It always has, every time. He knows right now he can't make his favor obvious, especially not in front of Aizawa, can't hint at their bond or anything, but _damn _does he hate standing here feeling completely useless. He takes a step forward. "M––"

Izuku's eyes snap open and he can't even gasp. He struggles briefly for a few seconds against the pull of unconsciousness, against Aizawa's hand on his shoulder, and then he can only lay there and try to catch his breath. He lifts his hands and covers his face. He remembers his dream. He remembers his dream. He remembers and he wishes he didn't. Because it's not a dream at all, not really, but a memory. A memory, distorted:

_Deku. Stay back_.  
_A purple vortex. A yawning void, like the endlessness of outer space. Pulling. Reaching forward_

_when he couldn't. Swallowing. Vanishing_. Gone.

He grinds the heels of his palms harder against his eyes, his fingers clutching at his scalp. _He's fine! _he yells internally. Kacchan's _fine_, he's fine, he's fine, but he just can't help thinking––_what if he wasn't? _Kacchan isn't even his friend, not really, not for a long, long, long time, but still. If he even holds the idea, the thought, the concept, of him being _gone_, gone as in dead, gone as in forever, even if he just holds it in his mind for a second, it hurts like nothing else. The one constant in the last thirteen years of his life, gone. The thought fills him with grief.

"Young Midoriya." All Might's voice is loud and close. "It's fine, now, you're awake. Breathe deeply."

Is it fine? Is he awake? Dreams aren't able supposed to hurt you. Not even nightmares. "I'm tired," he says, exhausted, miserable. It's the only thing he can say.

"Just breathe."

So he does. It's not like he can do anything else. He breathes and counts along in his head and after not long at all the buzzing fades from his ears. He feels clammy and vaguely nauseous but he can breathe again, so that's probably worth something. The next step is to take his hands off his face. He moves them down to his collarbone and he fingers the edge of his lapel. His tie is gone. Then, carefully, he opens his eyes. All Might and Aizawa stand close by.

"You fainted again," Aizawa says. "Do you remember what you wanted to ask?"

Yes, that's now _twice _he's fainted in front of his teacher today. "I..." His voice is small. They'll never let him go down to the cafeteria now, they're not going to leave him alone, this isn't going away. He has the urge to cover his face again but he doesn't. Why can this just _go away_? "I want to eat lunch with my friends."

His teachers share a glance.  
"It doesn't seem like you're up for that," All Might answers, carefully.

Izuku shrugs but tries. "I...I think my blood sugar is just low from missing breakfast, and if I can eat lunch with my friends then I'll feel better and I won't f-faint again and I'll be okay––"

"From missing dinner _and _breakfast, you mean." Aizawa's arms are loosely folded across his chest.

Before Izuku can try to formulate a response, he's interrupted by Recovery Girl pulling the curtain open. She carries a tray holding a steaming bowl and a glass bottle of orange juice, which Aizawa takes from her and puts on the bedside table.

"I'm sorry to hear you're still not feeling well," she says to Izuku in a sympathetic tone. "I've brought some broth to start, in case you're feeling nauseous. Is there anything in particular you'd like from Lunch Rush? Soba?"

"I––ah. Um. Katsudon?"  
Recovery Girl nods. "That'll be a good meal to help you get back on your feet."

He can't hide the fact that his face reddens, again, as his teachers help him sit up against the pillows. He hates the dizziness, he hates the way his stomach turns and he hates that he gets so lightheaded this time around he feels like he might pass out _again_. He wills himself to stay conscious and takes deep breaths until he can see again. He doesn't look at All Might or Aizawa but wraps his hands around the bowl that Recovery Girl hands him.

The broth is hot enough that he can feel it in his ears when he swallows. It's almost hot enough to burn, but not quite. He feels it travel down his throat and warm his stomach. He keeps drinking, first as a way to avoid looking at his teachers, but then because the soup is actually tasty and having something, anything, in his stomach feels good, too, almost like it's grounding. Before he knows it, the bowl is empty. He looks down at it in mild surprise.

"And I'm sure you'll feel even better after the katsu, too." Recovery Girl smiles up at him.

For some reason, it just makes him want to cry again. "Thank you," he says, a little sheepish, and puts the bowl back on the tray. She nods and he leans back against the pillows and watches her leave and head back to her desk.

"Before you go back to class and see your friends, I think we should talk about your dreams, Midoriya."

Izuku brings his knees to his chest. His sneakers are dirtying the sheets.

"Do you remember now?" Aizawa asks. "Can you remember what's been waking you up?"

Izuku nods but he doesn't elaborate.

"It looked like quite the nightmare." Yagi chooses his words carefully and uses a measured tone. He had had his fair share of sleepless weeks, too.

"I." He swallows and tries again. "I don't really want to talk about it." "Midoriya."  
"I _really _don't want to talk about it."

Aizawa sighs. Runs a hand through his hair. Shares a glance with Yagi, who stares back evenly. "Look. Midoriya. You know this can't continue. These dreams are clearly a problem, but talking about them _will _help. You don't have to talk to me, that's fine, but you have to talk to somebody."

So much for being able to eat lunch with his friends. "I... I don't think there's much to talk about."

Aizawa continues like he didn't say anything. "You can talk to Recovery Girl or the Hound, or if there's another teacher you're more comfortable with, you can talk to them too." He speaks plainly, to both of them. "Do you want me to leave the room?"

Izuku startles, his eyes widening, but Yagi schools his own expression.

Aizawa continues. "I can understand that, as your homeroom teacher, there may be things you don't want or need me knowing. Again, that's fine. But you have to talk to someone. And if you don't want to talk to anyone here at UA, then work with us to find someone you _will _talk to. We can talk to your mom, together." His voice gets quieter. "Midoriya, I told you earlier. You're not alone in this."

No. He can't bring his mom into this. She already worries so much, she already didn't want him to move into the dorms, and she already didn't want him to go back to UA this semester. If she knows that he can't sleep, how he's been feeling––no. He can't make his mom worry any more that she already does.

"I dream about the forest." His voice is quiet, but his words are loud, like the silence that follows.

Aizawa breaks it. "Fighting Muscular and the other villains was––" "No. I don't dream about Muscular."

Yagi and Aizawa look at each other again, but Izuku is looking down at his hands. He doesn't notice the way they convey feeling and information with their eyes, he doesn't notice the way they look down at him and back at each other. He studies his knuckles, his cuticles, the scars on his fingers.

All Might clears his throat. "You've... known young Bakugou for quite a long time, haven't you? Since middle school?"

The mention of Kacchan jolts him, but so does the complete inaccuracy of the supposition. He's hit with memories of riding the bus with his mom, in the mornings, to preschool: the brightness streaming from the massive windows and overhead lights, the hard plastic seats, the press of people, the way it _smelled_. A rush of sounds and colors and movements and sensations. He remembers his mom holding him close, just a bit too tightly. He remembers her voice as she talked over his head to another mom, clutching another baby––Mitsuki Bakugou and Kacchan. That's where they met. They both held the same All Might plush, because of course they did, and they were in the same preschool class, too, because of course they were. He can remember relinquishing his mom's hand at the school door and taking Kacchan's, and holding it all the way down two hallways and into a light yellow painted room. That only lasted a year until Kacchan decided he didn't _want _to hold his hand anymore, that he was a _big boy _now. Izuku could never see the correlation.

"No," he says simply. "Since we were little kids."

He doesn't wonder why didn't say "babies", even though they were, weren't they? But he doesn't want to think about knowing Kacchan since they were _babies_, because then he'll start thinking about how long thirteen years is. Preschool, primary school, middle school, high school. Thirteen years of riding the bus and then the train twice a day, of packed lunches and stolen notebooks and scraped palms and bloody noses. If he thinks about how long he's known Kacchan then he'll start thinking about how his voice sounded when it cracked while they fought. He'll start thinking about how it felt to punch him in the face, the way the flesh gave under his fist, the way his cheek was swollen for days.

He can't think about this. He's going to start to think about that face being dissolved in a purple mist, frozen in a sneer. Then he'll have to think about how _close _he was, really, he was, he was close enough he could see that Kacchan's pupils were just tiny specks and he could see his pulse beating through the skin at his neck. He was so close. He was close enough to touch, to grab, to pull back. But he didn't. He couldn't. How many times had he reached out to Kacchan in the past? And it did not matter.

He has to think about the way he could _feel _the bone fragments in his arms scrape against each other, scrape against sinew and tendons. He thinks: his body failed him. Or is it the other way around? He wants to be a hero, but what does he have to show for it?

There's that feeling again, like when he first woke up, like when he first wakes up.

Why are they talking about this? Why is he thinking about his? Why is he _still _thinking about this? "Does it matter?" his voice is rough, hoarse. "It's––" he rubs his face with both his hands. He wants to go back to sleep. "It doesn't matter."

"Why do you think that it _doesn't matter_?" Aizawa uncrosses his arms, frowning.  
"We've––we've known each other a long time, so what? That doesn't––it's not like––this isn't about

Kacchan!"

"It's not?"

Izuku freezes.

"You know... Izuku. You _know _that his kidnapping, Kamino Ward... wasn't your fault."

His hands are back on his face. His heart is beating so hard and he hates it because he knows there's no reason for it. He should stop talking, but he knows that he _can't_. This is what he has to do.

"If... If I had been––no, if I had listened, then––then I could've saved Kacchan." He should have been able to. "Fighting Muscular was... tough... and I could hardly save Kouta. But if I could have saved Kacchan, if, if he hadn't been kidnapped then..." He sinks even further into himself. "Then, All Might, you wouldn't have had to fight A-All For One––and––"

"_Young Midoriya!_"  
"––it's just like everything that happened with D-Dave, h––" "_Izuku_."

Damning propriety straight to hell, All Might reaches forward and takes his wrists in his hands and gently tugs. Izuku reluctantly uncovers his tear stained face. He can't look his teacher, his mentor, his idol in his eyes.

"You are _not _responsible for anything that's happened. The villains have numbers and plans and–– and you knew I was at the end of my power already. No matter what." His voice grows quieter.

Yagi is experiencing a new kind of grief as he stares down at young Midoriya's shaking, hunched frame. Did Nana feel this way, he thinks in anguish, when she stared down at _him_? He would never get to ask her how it felt to teach, to try to synthesize all his knowledge and experience for someone else to utilize, how to guide while allowing to grow. She showed him the world, her world, so easily. And he knew that it was not an easy world to navigate. Had she felt this way towards him? Did worry for him fill her the way worry for Midoriya fills him? She made the ultimate sacrifice for him. He knows that he would do the same for his own successor.

At least she taught him that.

The grief of the shared burden. Their power is their onus to bear. But he would not have chosen Midoriya if he did not think his spirit was strong, too; he's been a piss poor mentor.

"I don't know if I can believe that!"

"You don't have to believe it." Aizawa cuts in. "You can't save everybody. You won't. Nobody can. Not even All Might."

"Aizawa wait, I––"

"But you still have to _try_. And you have to learn from the people you couldn't save, and you have to take responsibility for the choices you make, out in the field and off. You have to be aware of yourself. You have to take care of yourself, you have to care _for _yourself, otherwise _you cannot be a hero_. You must learn this. You must understand this."

Tears stream down Izuku's face. All he does is sniffs and nods, because his teachers are _right_. He

can't be a hero if he can't even stand without fainting. He can't be a hero without sleeping and eating. But he still can't make himself look at All Might, who releases his arms.

"Having nightmares doesn't make you weak, either." Yagi takes half a step back from the bed while Aizawa nods in agreement. "Every hero you've ever admired has, at some time or another, been kept awake by them. But..." He wishes eloquence came more naturally to him. "You are going to fight more villains. You are going to end up in dangerous situations. You may... even lose people that are close to you, that you care about. Mr. Aizawa is right: you can't save everybody."

"And you can't feel better by ignoring your problems. That only leads to more problems. Nor can you recover in isolation."

"And you cannot change the past. What has happened... has happened. You are very good at learning, so _learn _from your past and from the things you couldn't do, instead of dwelling on impossibilities and what-ifs."

"What if I still can't sleep?"  
"Hey. This stuff, feeling better, takes time. That's why _we're _here. UA wasn't built in a day."

"It's true. The dorms took a whole three." A sliver of a smile lines All Might's lips. "We are all here to help you succeed. No one at UA wants to see you fail, Young Midoriya."

"No one that matters, anyway."

Izuku's not entirely sure he believes that––he's not entirely, one hundred percent _sure _he believes anything his teachers are saying, about things not being his fault, but––but he's not going to fight it. And sitting there, listening to his teachers' speeches break off into lighter conversation, he makes up his mind. He's no longer going to be his own villain. When Recovery Girl comes back bearing a wonderful smelling and oversized katsu bowl, he smiles and thanks her and eats it and it's delicious, and he realizes how hungry he was. When his teachers lightly but firmly insist he stay here and rest for what's left of the school day, he doesn't protest, but takes off his shoes instead. He lies back against the sheets, full and tired, and sleeps.

* * *

a/n: Thanks for reading. Feedback always appreciated.


	3. cascade (epilogue)

_epilogue_

* * *

Uraraka, Iida, Tsuyu, and Todoroki are waiting for him right outside the nurse's office after the last bell. He feels a bit groggy from his rest, but it evaporates the moment he sees them all standing there. He can't help but smile.

"Deku!" Uraraka's soft brown eyes are wide and full of both concern and relief. "How are you feeling?" She curls her hand around his forearm.

"Better," he says with a small smile, and means it.

_Lean on your friends, _All Might told him. _They're here for you. _

They walk back to the dorms at a leisurely pace, and Iida and Uraraka give him a little rundown of what he missed that day with the occasional interjection from Tsu and Todoroki. A tricky piece of grammar from Mic's class that not even Bakugou could get right, they started ceramics in art class, some varied bits of secondhand gossip from Kaminari and Mina. They avoid talking too much about Hero Classes, which still stings to have missed, nor do they ask what was wrong, which he appreciates. Talking to them about his dreams will have its time and place.

"I just can't believe that Mic has enough energy to muster up so much enthusiasm for teaching _English grammar _on top of his radio show _and _hero work!" Ochako yawns. "I'm exhausted just thinking about it."

"I'm convinced neither he nor Aizawa actually sleep," Todoroki agrees.  
"Well, we already know Aizawa doesn't, _ribbit_."  
"Being a hero truly does mean having to do it all!" Iida, for some reason, sounds a bit grim.

Most of the class stays at Heights Alliance for dinner that night, a communally prepared meal consisting mostly of soba, both hot and cold, with and without sauce, as well as various other odds and ends people prepare. Midoriya sits at a table in the common room with Iida and Todoroki, who share their notes and give more details about the lessons he missed. When the food is almost ready and the three start putting away their books, Satou approaches him, carrying a covered plastic food container.

"Midoriya," he says, and glances down at box before looking back up. "Here. These are for you. They're energy bars." A very light blush covers his nose and cheeks. "I made them––they have whole grains and nuts, are you allergic to nuts? But not too much sugar, like store bought ones. They're a good substitute if you don't have time for breakfast in the morning."

Izuku cracks the lid. They smell like peanut butter and cinnamon and it fills him with warmth like the soup did, back in Recovery Girl's office. "Thanks, Satou, they smell great. I'm sure they're delicious!"

Satou gives him a sheepish but genuine smile and the warmth grows.

On his way up to his room, he passes Jirou coming down from hers. "Oh, Midoriya," she says, and he stops. She hesitates.

"Yeah?"

"I have, uh, noise canceling headphones you can borrow, if you want. Though, personally, I prefer a white noise machine, you know, because it's something to hear."

Oh. Oh. "I have the AlbaSoundTM App on my phone, actually."

Jirou shakes her head. "That one's okay, but I think NiveusTM is better."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It has more customizations and options like rain and static, and you can mix your own track too."

"I'll download it tonight. Thanks for the recommendation."  
Jirou nods and passes him. Midoriya turns to watch her go. Warmth, all the way down.

Dinner is a tasty if unorthodox meal, as it usually is when 1-A gets together and cooks. Izuku contributes a little to the various conversations, but mostly just takes the time to revel in their closeness. Afterwards, he does dishes with Yaomomo and she's able to give him even more insight into the day's classes, correcting or elaborating one some of what he, Iida, and Todoroki discussed.

When they've finished, she dries her hands on a towel and tells him to wait while she rifles through one of the cabinets and withdraws a small metal tin from its depths with a quiet _aha_! She pulls the lid off to show the contents of various dried flowers, herbs, and tea leaves. Midoriya can smell chamomile and lavender, as well as something earthy and sweet he can't identify.

"Making tea always helps me calm down," she admits, capping the container. "The whole ritual of it... boiling the water, measuring the leaves, letting it steep... it's just such an easy way to take a moment and slow down. This one is one of my favorites. My mother used to prepare it for me when I was younger and couldn't sleep." She smiles with the memory. "It's got passionflower and hawthorn berries, and you're welcome to help yourself. If you really like it, I'd be happy to get you a tin of your own––it can be a bit tricky to find in stores."

Izuku wills himself not to cry, but his eyes are glassy anyway. "Yaoyorozu, that's... thank you. I'll definitely try it."

She gives him a bright smile in response. "I'm happy to help."

* * *

Tonight, he dreams again. He's in the forest, and he's not. He's in Kamino Ward, and he's not. He's somewhere dark and large and strange and open and cold, and he's not. In the physical world, he rolls around on his bed, his face twists with fear. Images, sounds, and feelings flash through his unconscious mind: Muscular, Shigaraki, Nomu, Aizawa, All Might, Kacchan. Izuku awakens with a hoarse gasp and shoots straight up. He sits, panting in the darkness.

The little clock on his desk reads 00:37 and he scrubs at his eyes and tries to catch his breath. _UA wasn't built in a day, _he tries to remind himself but it's hard to hear his thoughts over the fear that still makes his heart slam against his rib cage. He remembers some of the nightmares but not a lot, a fact for which he is grateful.

For the first time, he doesn't lie back down and reach for his phone to scroll through various hero- reporting sites, like he's used to doing. If he stays here he knows he'll just be thinking about his dreams all night, again, lying there awake with his fear. So instead, he throws aside his blankets and slips on his slippers and makes his way quietly downstairs.

Down in the kitchen, he turns on a single overhead light and gets to work. He fills their electric kettle with cold water and while he waits for it to boil he takes out a mug and the tin that Yaomomo showed him earlier. He opens it up and breathes in the floral and herbal scent and just _breathes_. Those dreams aren't real, but this tea is real, and the dorm is real, and he's real, and his friends are real, too.

There's a small noise behind him and he spins around, nearly flinging tea leaves everywhere. Kacchan glares blearily at him from one of the sofas, his spiky hair sleep-mussed and even spikier than usual.

"_Oi,_" he calls, his own voice hoarse. "Turn off that _damn _light."  
"S...Sorry," Izuku says, but doesn't turn off the light. He puts the tin back on the counter. "I'll be done in a few minutes."

Kacchan makes a strangled, frustrated sound before he drops back down onto the cushions. Izuku frowns and retrieves a teaspoon from a drawer, his heart rate up a little bit from the surprise. He didn't expect to run into anyone, but especially not _Kacchan_. Two tea strainer balls sitting beside the rest of the silverware catch his eye. He had still been out in the common room when Bakugou had left for bed, just a few hours ago, really. _Every hero you've ever admired has, at some time or another, been kept awake by nightmares. _

"I'm making tea. Do you want some?"

"What I _want _is for you to shut up and turn off that light."

Izuku turns back to the counter. He picks up the little metal strainers and fills them with tea. He takes down another mug and drops one inside and when the water is boiling he pours two cups. He carries one over to the sofa where Kacchan lies on his back, an arm draped over his face.

"Hey." He holds out the mug. "Here."

Two red eyes glare at him from under an elbow. He places the mug down on the coffee table and turns, intending on picking up his own tea and bringing it to his room to steep.

But Kacchan calls him back. "_Oi_." He sits up. "What?"

All he does is glare, again, and then he turns his head. "I thought you were trying to _surpass me_," he grinds out. "How d'you expect to do that if you keep passing out everywhere?"

Huh. Look at that. He wasn't able to save Kacchan. He _wasn't _able to save Kacchan, he wasn't able to reach forward and grab him from the villains' hands, he wasn't even able to lift his arm. But still. After that, after thirteen years, Kacchan is still... here. He's still here, right in front of him.

"I'm working on it." He takes a few steps towards the kitch. "Enjoy the tea."

Kacchan grunts in response and Izuku picks up his mug and just holds it for a moment. The heat from the porcelain seeps into his palms and though he knows it still needs a minute or two to steep, he takes a sip. Warmth. All the way down.

"Hey! Are you deaf or just stupid? Turn off the light!"


End file.
